


Ties That Bind (the Some of our Stars Redux)

by Della19



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies), Star Trek: Generations (1994), Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-24
Updated: 2013-06-03
Packaged: 2017-12-12 20:04:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/815492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Della19/pseuds/Della19
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Go outside sweetheart, or look out your window and up to the night sky.  Do you see them? The stars? Me too.  They’re looking down on both of us, no matter how far apart we are.  They're not entirely the same, I know, the ones you and I can see, but some of them are darling.  Some of our stars are the same.</p>
<p>Or; four men, two universes, one love.  This is the Enterprise; nothing is impossible.  A Generations fix-it, because he deserved better.  Kirk-Prime/Spock-Prime, Kirk/Spock.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: Of Spider Webs and Gossamer Threads

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Ties That Bind](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/22131) by Della19. 



> Disclaimer: Star Trek and the boys belong to Gene Roddenberry, who I am not. I am only borrowing them with the greatest respect, and promise to return them in (mostly) pristine condition.

STSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTST

_PICARD:  Guinan, can I leave the Nexus?_

_GUINAN: Why would you want to leave_?

_PICARD: Can I?_  

_GUINAN: Yes, where would you go?_

_PICARD: I don't understand._

_GUINAN: I told you, time has no meaning here. If you leave, you can go anywhere, any time._

_-_ Guinan and Captain Picard - Star Trek: Generations

STSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTST

Come a little closer, and I’ll tell you a story.

It’s a story of men and legends.  Of friends and lovers, heroes and ordinary men, and of the stars and those who journey through them.

Of life and death, and the love that comes after.

_But how?_ You ask, _How can there be love after, when surely the story ends with death._

_Doesn’t everything?_

Many things end with death, this is true.  But not love.

Not always.

STSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTST

Interested yet?

STSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTST

There was no one who truly knew what the Nexus was capable of. 

Yet, there were some mortals who had the arrogance to presume they did, their opinions oscillating between two extremes.  Some thought it was a paradise; to never want, to never age, to never die, to live a fantasy – a perfect dream - for all eternity.  _Who wouldn’t want that?_

Others thought it was a prison of shadows and ghosts with bars they could not see, a life of lies that you could not wake up from.  A trap, and yet one so insidious that you didn’t even want to escape it.  _Who would ever want that?_

But these were the opinions of mortals, so black and white.  In truth it was both and neither, forever caught in the gray, as life so often is.  But this too is also a truth; whatever it was it not inhabited only by echoes. 

It was inhabited by _souls_.

Ancient Terran natives had once believed that a photograph would steal your soul; trap it in an image of oneself and preserve it there for all eternity.  It had been an idea ridiculed on Earth by men of science and intellect, but then they had only been men, their imaginations limited by the laws of the physical world.

The Nexus, however, has no such limitations, for to exit the Nexus was to also leave yourself behind. 

I know, I know.  An impossible conundrum to be sure.  Bear with me, I’ll not steer you awry. 

A metaphor perhaps is needed, to explain what no language has words yet to do.  And here it is, imperfect and clunky, but functionally accurate – think of the Nexus as a computer, constantly saving and updating data.  To depart then is to also leave a backup drive, but instead of your media and files, this back-up was of your very _soul_ , fully formed and functional.

A soul then, by its very definition, that would be capable one day of its own departure, so long as the previous soul had died. 

Still with me?  Good.

But of course such a thing was rare, as there are so few souls strong enough to fight the effects of the Nexus and it’s all too tempting gossamer blanket of perfect dreams and longings, and so most remained there, free of _any_ thoughts, much less ones of departure.

But that was not to say that it did not occur; that there were not in existence those few rare gems of a soul that _were_ strong enough to break free, and it was only through these souls that the true power of the Nexus could be seen. 

Another metaphor perhaps, to explain away the vagueness; imagine space and time were a quilt, each universe and reality a separate patch. The Nexus then would be the thread woven into each one, connecting them and holding them together.  

Reaching into each and every one of them.

And it is this that is relevant to our little tale, because although there were some souls that were strong enough to return to their own universe at a time of their choosing, there was still a class of souls above these; souls so strong they could defy even time and space - could travel from nothingness to a universe that was not their own in pursuit of their heart’s desire, so long as their will was strong enough. 

And as those who had known him had very frequently said; there was no man who had a stronger will than James Tiberius Kirk.

STSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTST

How about now?

STSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTST


	2. Awake and Dreaming

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Nope, still not mine.

STSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTST

"... A dream that became a reality and spread throughout the stars" -- Kirk (Whom Gods Destroy)

STSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTST

It was his guilty pleasure; his most exquisite sin, more necessary than breathing.  Jim didn’t like doing it often, because here it felt wrong - a ghastly mockery of what they had once been - and every time he did it he would promise it would be the last.  And yet, every time in doing so he knew it to be a lie, because he was only a man, deeply flawed and unquestionably human and he could not live without his t’hy’la forever. 

And so he began once again, all the while hating himself for his weakness - his _need_ , more addictive than any drug the universe had ever created - and he closed his eyes and _imagined_ , poured all of his heart into this one thought.  And it worked, as it always did, as when he finally opened his eyes – somehow both an eternity and a second later - his thoughts had taken form as there before him was his lover as he’d been the day he’d left him to voyage on the Enterprise-B.  Sleek and shiny black hair, perfectly straight and never out of place framed the precious pale face with its brown and beloved too human eyes, accented by a body of delightful angles and deceptive strength - perfect all the way from his toes to the tips of his pointed ears.

Spock.

A gasp escaped him; one always did in that first moment when he could simply _look_ at Spock again and so he did, drinking him in like water after an intense drought.  And, as always, he refused to allow himself to think of the truth and concentrated only on his t’hy’la who with him again after so long of being alone, allowing himself the pleadingly seductive thought that perhaps it would work this time...it had to work this time. 

 _Please_ , he begged, in the deepest, darkest parts of himself, let it work this time. 

Then Spock was moving closer, navigating the room that they had shared so much in with ease and spoke, “Jim, you have returned home unharmed.  Should I be concerned?,” and as he did his eyebrow tilted slightly, expressing the teasing that would have been present in his tone if he had not been Vulcan. 

And Jim felt his heart swell in response and he closed the distance between them, pressing his lips to Spock’s with desperation, kissing him fiercely and as he felt Spock respond he prayed that this time it would work.  But it quickly became apparent that it hadn’t, and so after a long moment he pulled away with a sob of despair and turned his head because it hurt too much to look at the embodiment of his failure. 

It was easy to pretend it was fine when he talked to Spock here, or when he looked at him, but it was when he touched him that he was forced to remember that it wasn’t real, because he couldn’t _feel_ him.  There had been heat from the kiss - or at least the idea of heat; there was no true feeling in the Nexus - but it was like kissing a stranger; the mental contact he’d had with the real Spock wasn’t there and Jim couldn’t bear its absence, so painful it left him aching in his very soul.

And so he closed his eyes and wished for absolute and total _solitude_ \- an entire planet to himself so he wouldn't have to share it with ghosts and dolls that were put away when one was done playing with them - because the people he knew – Spock, it was always, _only_ Spock - deserved better than that.  When he opened his eyes he was alone and a tremendous garden sprawled all around him, a massive tree at its center, leaves gleaming as the sun shone down on them and the rest of the garden, rays reflecting across the water, sparkling like millions of diamonds.  Eden, his early religious education supplied and Jim laughed bitterly because there was no paradise here, not for him.

Not without Spock. 

His bitter-edged frustration made him anxious and so he paced to work off the tension, thinking as he did so.  It hadn’t been like this before, he knew, even if his recollection of _before_ wasn’t all that clear.  Before it had been like looking at life through a veil and the world had been hazy and incomplete, _soft_ almost, a pleasant dream that he’d had no desire to wake from.

But then Captain Picard of the new Starship Enterprise had come and had forced him awake, broken him from his comfortable cage and he’d become aware of his situation, and like any good trick the magic had disappeared once he’d realized the mechanics of it and he’d wanted to depart.  And this too he remembered - he’d been ready to leave, _willing_ , and for a moment it had almost felt like he had, but then Picard had simply disappeared and he’d still been here, trapped in his dream world. 

Only now he was _awake_. 

And although Jim could acknowledge that the idea of being awake but dreaming did carry a certain lyrical and poetic appeal, he also feely admitted that it was hideous to withstand - a wax museum of your life, a world of _almost’s_ and _nearly’s_ , an endless nightmare – and now without even the respite of before.  If before had been a fog, heavy and sweet, then after was a knife, sharp and painful as it sliced through unprotesting flesh.  Before he hadn’t noticed that the people –ghosts - here were little more than empty shells, the fruit of his own imagination brought to a pale imitation of life, but now he was helpless to escape it with the generic taste of his lover’s imposter still lingering on his lips. 

Now there was nothing he wanted more than to leave - to escape - but he wasn’t sure how.  Picard had managed it, but then he’d had a goal - a time - to focus on while Jim didn’t.  He couldn’t go back to before the test on the Enterprise-B, not only because if he did more people would die - even if he could stop the launch and take the _fucking ship_ apart they still would -but because it was so hard to focus on anything here for a sustained amount of time without getting swept away in the sheer rush that was the Nexus. 

The only thing he could truly concentrate on was... _Spock_. 

And suddenly Jim was propelled into action, hope desperately ignited by the thought that if he could focus hard enough on Spock, maybe, just _maybe_ he could use that as a rope to pull him out and have Spock be his anchor.  A long shot most likely, but really at this point anything that could even _maybe_ get him out of this hell was worth a shot.

Besides, it wasn’t like he had anything left to lose.

And so he closed his eyes again, because with one’s eyes closed it was easy to ignore the burn of the sun you couldn’t feel, and the rush of the water you couldn’t hear and tried to look deep into himself –through the caverns of his soul, into the very _core_ of himself to where his t’hy’la presence had once lived.  As he searched he was obvious to everything but Spock and so he did not see the sky darken, ominous clouds whipping across it, or the lush green grass disappear and be replaced with jagged and bleak rocks, obsidian and unforgiving, painting the scene around him in ghastly bleakness - paradise after the consumption of the forbidden fruit. 

But none of that mattered to Jim because he’d found it –hiding away in the very deepest recesses of his soul, that tiny heat inside himself that was that thing, that bond that had belonged to him and Spock alone, and he coaxed it to life, ever so gently until it was as strong as an inferno and he joyfully basked in the warmth and thought, _t’hy’la, there you are.  I’ve been looking for you forever._

It was in that instant that lightening shot through the sky - a single fork more brilliant than any light he’d ever seen before, erupting from the clouds almost angrily to strike him where he stood.  And yet, though it burnt, Jim was almost pathetically glad for it because _finally_ there was something, _anything_ after an eternity of numbness.  And then he was flying, hurtling through a tunnel that seemed to be getting progressively smaller, squeezing all around him almost to the point where he felt he could no longer bear it when suddenly he connected - felt hard ground underneath his body and then his head snapped into a rock and Jim surrendered to the familiar blackness of unconsciousness.

STSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTST

He awoke slowly, an undeterminable amount of time later and blinked sluggishly as the sun shone down on him, burning his tired eyes, and so he gave them a moment to adjust as he dazedly wondered what new torment the Nexus had torn from his subconscious and forced him to live through now.

It was safe to say that the novelty of his very own fantasy world had worn off long ago. 

Shaking off the feeling, he attempted to rise up on one of his elbows to check his surroundings, but he was stopped by the sharp starburst of pain that shot from the top of his skull to his forehead, so striking that he fell back limply to the ground.  Acknowledging that standing was out of his reach for the moment, Jim instead gently propped himself up on a tree trunk in the grove of bushes he had found himself in he cradled his head in his hands in a futile attempt to lessen the pain.

Wait. Pause.  Rewind.

_Pain._

And suddenly he just _stopped_ , his breath frozen like a wall of ice in his chest, because when he had been in the Nexus there had been _nothing_ ; no fear, no warmth, no love and certainly no pain, but now there _was_.  Now there was the explosion behind his skull, the scrape on his knee that was slowly dripping blood onto the soft grass that in turn was prickling at his stomach and he could _feel_ it all and hope crashed into him like a tsunami because this time, this time he might have done it. 

This time he might have gotten _out._

Slowly, ever so slowly, with hands that trembled from the sheer _emotion_ that was threatening to overwhelm him, he reached down and gripped his side gently between his forefinger and his thumb, but in the last second he hesitated.  A sudden shock of fear grasped him and held him tightly in its clutches, paralyzing him in place, because he had tried this so many times before in the Nexus and there had been _nothing_ and now, when he was closer than he had ever been before, he was terrified that this simple thing would be what killed his hope and reinforced the invisible iron bars of his gilded cell.  But then he thought of Spock and his heart, which was currently residing in his throat, gave a rolling shudder and so Jim gathered his courage and _squeezed_ , and in that moment the simple contraction of two fingers became the most miraculous thing in all the universe and he could do no more than weep huge, silent sobs of relief as his side throbbed unpleasantly from where he had pinched it.    

_Freedom. After so long, freedom._

Once he had finally managed to calm himself, Jim sat and just _breathed_ in the tangy scent of the air which tasted nearly as sweet as his relief that was still tinged with the faintest aura of disbelief that he was able to have this - that finally, against all odds he was out of the Nexus and _free_. 

And then, because karma was a mean bitch who knew how to carry a grudge, a loud bang echoed to his right and Jim chanced a look over the top of the bush that he was hiding behind and just _stared_ because he might have been free but he was apparently also simultaneously being held by a group of angry wanna-be storm troopers – and yes, he was perfectly aware of the fact that he was probably being culturally insensitive with that assessment, but really, those uniforms were just _uncannily_ similar- on an impressive stone altar. 

And he just continued to stare, simply dumfounded because the man on said altar was unquestionably him, only much younger - and god hadn’t he been a handsome devil when he was young!

But he digressed.

And if it wasn’t for the fact that even he’d never be able to dream up an experience like this and the dull, lingering throb of his headache that asserted that this was all real, he’d of thought he was still in the Nexus, because this was right up there on the list of the strangest things he’d ever seen in his life.  And he had been the Captain of the _Enterprise_ , so he’d definitely seen some strange things!  On the bright side this version of himself didn’t appear to be an evil and sadistic psychopath, so at least there was a good chance he was in a better alternative universe than the last one – though, in the interest of full disclosure Spock with a beard and that uniform with the sash had been…yeah.

_Yummy._

Off topic.

But it was at that, that stray thought of _Spock_ that Jim stopped and ducked behind his bush for another moment to _really_ contemplate the situation he’d found himself in.  Spock had been his focal point in his effort to escape the Nexus, and since it appeared to have worked – marking the only time in his life he’d ever been thankful for a migraine, because it proved that no matter how amazing this was, it was also real - he should have ended up where Spock was. 

He chanced another quick look at the bizarre tableau in front of him to see if, in his disbelief he’d missed the sight of his lover captive, but the scene hadn’t changed.  There was still a young doppelganger of himself being interrogated by storm trooper look-a-likes while being restrained to a large stone altar, but there was most assuredly no Spock, which didn’t make sense – not, he freely admitted, that there was much about this situation that _did_ make sense.  But, he concluded, if he wanted to figure this out and find Spock - and he _really_ did - then he was going to have to make it make sense, which he figured he was capable of.

After all, He’d had a Vulcan sharing his head for years after - he should be able to manage a little unconventional logic.

There was no thing as a no-win scenario.

So, a little deductive logic- point one; he was definitely in an alternative universe.  It probably went without saying, since Jim was positive he wasn’t in the past - no matter how much his head hurt or how fogged the Nexus had made his memory, he was sure an experience like this one would have stuck - but it made a good stepping stone for further intuitive leaps. 

Point two; Spock was in this universe somewhere, and not just this universes Spock but _his_ Spock.  The where of it all still eluded him, but he was definitely sure of that fact.  The bond that they had shared was still alive, but what once had been a strong and warm pulse was now no more than the faintest of hums, weakened drastically by his “death” and the distance between them, but it was still strong enough to assure him of this. 

Point three; the Nexus had dropped him here, in this distinctly Spock free area, after he’d wished to return to Spock, which was the real puzzle.  Although, once he gave it some thought, and by no means was Jim pretending to understand the mysteries of the Nexus, he figured that there might be a certain – albeit twisted - kind of sense to all of it.  He wanted Spock, but because of their weakened bond and his lack of transportation - the Nexus apparently wasn’t thoughtful enough to drop him in an alternative universe with a ship - he had no way of finding Spock, much less getting to him and that was the problem he figured his young self might be able to help him solve.

So, if he continued his current thought path, then he figured it was safe to say that this Jim knew where his Spock was.  It was a bit of a leap perhaps, but it made sense to him - he’d always been drawn to all versions of Spock, and he couldn’t imagine that this alternative Jim was any different.  Additionally, if this Jim _did_ know where his Spock was then it was also safe to say that this Jim probably had a way to get him to Spock - a ship he was serving on that was hopefully orbiting the planet - maybe even the Enterprise if the golden shirt he was wearing was any indication. 

It seemed like a good plan – good, he admitted only in a ‘down-the-rabbit-hole-through-the-looking-glass’ sort of way - but Jim sat forward as he realized the snag in it.  This alternate Jim wasn’t going to be doing anything, much less ferrying him across the universe if he died on that alter and Jim wasn’t about to let the fate of his life – lives, whatever - rest on the notion that this Jim’s crew was going to save him - _them_. 

The pronouns of this venture were going to be a nightmare, he could already tell.

Bigger problems.

So, if he followed this thought to its conclusion then he was left with only one option - if he wanted to end up where Spock was, Jim himself was going to have to save his alternative self.  And that there was the real snag because, _fuck_ , he was getting _way_ too old for this shit.

But despite that, the situation still stood and so Jim took another look over the bush to see if he couldn’t figure out a way to get them out of this.  On the positive side, there were fewer guards then before - only three were guarding his younger self now instead of the several dozen that there were before.  On the negative, there were still more of them than him and the three that were there were significantly better armed than he was, and likely more able in a fight to top it off.

Old age _sucked_.

In fact, the only real tactical advantage that he had was the element of surprise, which didn’t do him much good unless he could get his hands on a weapon - jumping out and shouting boo likely wasn’t going to do anything but get him killed - he was going to shelve that as what Bones had called a ‘terrible excuse for an idea and get back here Jim’ plan. 

Bones, needless to say, had not always held much faith in his planning skills.

Still, he figured this one was pretty straight forward - he needed a weapon and the natives had weapons, so logically - and wouldn’t Bones just be dying of shock right about now - he was going to have to isolate one of the natives and ‘relieve’ them of their weapon.  And as an added bonus, if he managed to get a native off to the side he could also take their uniform which not only gave him an entrance strategy but also a way to hide his identity from this young Jim, because the time it would take to explain this - whatever this was - would definitely get them both killed. 

So now that he had a plan - and he wasn’t saying it was a good one, simply the best he could come up with when he had a budding concussion and no time - Jim moved to crouch behind one of the trees close to the dirt path that lead to the clearing where his younger self was being held and waited for one of the men to move past him - hopefully before his young doppelganger was killed.

Look, he’d already freely admitted that there were _some_ holes in his plan. 

His luck was apparently changing though -perhaps the universe had finally recognized the debt it owed him and was trying to repay him, although if that was the case he could think of a better form of payment; namely Spock-sex - because after a few minutes of waiting one of the three guards broke off from the others and headed into the woods, likely to relieve himself.  Jim waited until he was sure that he was out of the other two guard’s lines of sight, helped by the fact that they were more distracted by the prospect of torturing their captive than their friend’s bathroom mission, and snuck up behind the guard who was in the middle of answering nature’s call.  It had only taken a second to subdue him - humans couldn’t really perform a true nerve pinch but there was a modified version taught to those who were in…close enough confidence to a Vulcan; but this really wasn’t the time to think about pillow talk - and the guard had fallen like a ton of bricks to the floor, where the sound was thankfully muffled by the spongy ground underneath them. 

Jim then quickly - and as silently as possible; getting shot while half naked wasn’t really the way he wanted to go out either - divested him of his uniform and his weapon and put them on his own body, grimacing at the fit of the uncomfortable white plastic.

He then hid the fallen soldier behind a bush and begun to make his way into the clearing, moving at a sedate pace - and he was almost been impressed by the guards for their ability to walk in such a uniform; the plastic had begun to ride up and it was exceedingly ... awkward to move.  When he had reached the edge of the clearing he had paused for a moment to activate the weapon he had stolen - it was a bit like a primitive phaser rifle, and simple enough to figure out - and to position it so that it hung over his shoulder from its strap, which gave him easier access but did not alert the two other guards of his intentions. 

And then, after he was ready he stood still for only one additional moment and thought that no matter had old or how uncomfortable he was, it felt damn good to be back in the game.  And although no one could see it through the thick dark plexi of the visor, there was a smile on his face as he had stepped forward into the clearing.

Showtime.   

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Man the spellcheck I used when I first wrote this thing sucked, let me tell you that! I’ve got to get a beta. Also, I apparently had a love affair with brackets, but given that I now have a love affair with asides, I guess my past self gets a pass. Also, in the name of the Star Trek fic I’m contemplating, I feel that this might be a good forum to offer up the summary of a potential fic I’m dreaming up, as it’s a cross-over and I’m interested to see if it’s one that other people would be receptive to, so please feel free to drop me a line about that as well.
> 
> Title: With the Stars in our Rear-view Mirror
> 
> Summary: There is a three year gap, ages 18-21, in the records of one James Tiberius Kirk, recently Captain of the USS Enterprise, an absence so absolute that it almost seems that he was not even on the planet Earth during that time, yet there also exists no record of a passage off world. When pressed, Jim will say only that he was traveling during that time, with only his wheels and the stars in his rear-view mirror.
> 
> This, as it turns out, is not entirely the truth. It is also not technically a lie.
> 
> Or, conversely, the Doctor has a fondness for them, these pink and yellow humans, these heroes. Rose Tyler, Defender of the Universe; River Song, The Woman out of Time; James Tiberius Kirk, Captain of the Enterprise. These legends, who belong first to history, are far too tempting to resist, especially for the Doctor, who is perhaps the most dedicated historian there ever was. 
> 
> Or, the one where the Doctor accidentally crashes in Jim Kirk’s backyard and then takes him to see the stars, and you know, in general shake up the universe. Needless to say, it’s a ride. Doctor Who/Star Trek Alternative Original Series Crossover. Mostly gen, pre Kirk/Spock, background River/The Doctor, Sarek/Amanda. 
> 
> Yeah so I’m a crazy person. Please feel free to share your thoughts on that particular fic idea, and as always reviews and constructive criticism are welcome.


	3. Achieving Escape Velocity...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Star Trek and the boys belong to Gene Roddenberry, who I am not. I am only borrowing them with the greatest respect, and promise to return them in (mostly) pristine condition.

STSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTST

 _Kirk: So, we're stranded here, in the middle of a Klingon occupation army._  
Spock: So it would seem. Not a very pleasant prospect.   
Kirk: You have a gift for understatement, Mister Spock. It's not a very pleasant prospect at all.  
\- Spock and Kirk (Errand of Mercy) 

STSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTST

Jim knows that the situation he’s found himself in isn’t the worst thing that had ever happened to him, because if he was to going be frank - pun most certainly intended - he's had about ten other things in his past that easily topped this on the good old ‘suck-o-meter.’ 

Really, it wasn’t even the worst thing that had happened to him this _week_ , as that auspicious title had most definitely gone to the fight he’d had with Spock a few nights ago.  Spock had apparently thought that Jim was taking unnecessary risks with his life while on missions and Jim had thought he was taking _completely necessary_ risks with his life on missions, and after that the communication had pretty much disintegrated into a lot of yelling - on Jim’s part - and a great deal of eye twitching - on Spock’s part - and then they had finished by both storming off in a huff - well Jim had stormed and Spock had strode stiffly, but he’d figured that was as close as Vulcan’s ever got to storming. 

Jim reluctantly acknowledges now that the - let’s say _unfavorable_ \- situation he’s currently found himself in - tied to an alter on a relatively violent class M planet while his captors either try to sacrifice him or torture answers out of him; the odds are about 50/50 at the moment - probably isn’t helping his case any.

James Tiberius Kirk.  Karma’s bitch. What are you going to do?

And so, while this isn’t the worst thing that has ever happened to him, Jim knows that he is going to remember this day for the rest of his life – which, here’s hoping that ‘the rest of his life’ is a long time instead of say 6-10 hours.  Knock on wood.

Though his certainty of this isn’t because this experience was going to traumatize him for the rest of his life - seriously, very few things could compare with Nero’s fuckin’ big-ass pointy black ship of _doom_ \- but rather that despite the very real threat of death that seems to hang in the air all around him, Jim is desperately trying to hold in the gales of laughter that are trying to break free from his chest.  

Said laughter - which he’s pretty sure wouldn’t go over very well with the natives - is prompted by the sheer surrealism of the situation; namely the fact that his captors are almost identical to the stormtroopers from the old holovids he’d used to watch with his brother to make fun of the inaccuracies the filmmakers had made regarding space - and the uniforms; the way they walked just made them look so _funny_. 

Maybe some moron had left a vid here years ago and the people had thought it made a great bible – and he never thought he’d say this, but he almost misses the guys and dolls - or more likely it’s just a coincidence, but he guesses it could be worse.  If his crew had to rescue him - and they had _better_ rescue him - from a Star Wars movie gone wrong, stormtroopers were much better than midget teddy bears, because if it had been the latter he would have been forced to kill his crew out of sheer humiliation and that would have been a real waste of excellent people.

Well, maybe not Cupcake, but the others definitely.

Budding hysteria aside, there was of course another downside to this already _sucktastic_ situation - namely that Jim now found himself with a whole lot of time on his hands for nothing more than thinking, something that wouldn’t have been so bad except for the fact that he really was damn close to death which was a pretty fucking thought consuming thing, all things considered.

Fucking away missions man.  Seriously, how does this always happen to him?

But he digresses.

So, after torturing himself by trying to figure a way out and had coming up with nothing, Jim found himself turning to the one thing the he knew would keep him occupied until he was rescued - or killed, whatever came first - Spock.  Or, if he was going to be more specific, the fact that he felt ... _something_ for Spock. 

But not love, he quickly amended, because there was no way he could be in _love_ with Spock.  Really; none whatsoever.  But while it most certainly wasn’t _love_ \- and he really needed to stop using that word if he wanted to keep his cool - he was in _something_ with Spock, and now seemed as good a time as any to devote some time to trying to figure out just what that _something_ was.

Although he and Spock most certainly hadn’t started out as anything other than two people who really hadn’t liked each other - enemies was such a strong word -they had been in the middle of a seriously emotionally charged situation and if there was one tidbit of self-taught psychology that Jim had learned from his travels it was that when you were _that_ fucked up and you looked at the world, whatever you were looking at tended to get a bit distorted.  So once he’d managed to clear all that blurry emotion from his eyes and had settled into his new routine on the ship he’d decided to take the elder Spock’s - and wasn’t _that_ just a mind fuck in itself - advice and taken another look at Spock 2.0. 

And, although he would freely admit that nothing had changed for a while because looking at Spock was a bit like looking at an onion; there were so many protective layers you needed to peel back before you reached the heart, once he had finally put some real effort into getting to know Spock - peeled back some of his layers, so to speak - he had decided that he really did like what he saw.

Spock was loyal - at least to those who had earned his loyalty -honest to a fault and as reliable as the passage of time.  That said, it was easy to see how he’d gotten his first impression of Spock so wrong, because on the surface there existed an infinity of differences between the two of them.  Spock was full of dry wit; Jim preferred to laugh out loud.  Jim was a risk taker; Spock preferred to not only look but scientifically calculate all of the possible odds before he even considered leaping.  Spock was logical; Jim was the dictionary definition of illogical - really, he was pretty sure that if there wasn’t already a dictionary out there somewhere with his picture under the word there would be after Spock spent some more time with him.

He’s totally serious about that last one. 

But, as the mission had progressed, Jim had finally clued into the fact that it was their differences that made them such a good team, because it was those differences that made them complement each other so well and it had been from that quality that their friendship had emerged.  To use a food metaphor, they might have been oil and vinegar, and although they didn’t mix easily, given a little time and effort they became a pretty kick ass salad dressing. 

What? His captors weren’t exactly giving him three squares and he was getting a little hungry.  So sue him.

And so, while his and Spock’s new sense of togetherness was great, it was also where part of where the problem had started for him, because apparently along with Spock’s friendship came a well formed appreciation for his ass.  By itself, the discovery that he found Spock fuckable wouldn’t have even fazed him - he was all for sexual diversity, both in theory and in practice, perfectly content to live his life in a permanently bi-curious phase, sampling the sexual charms of individuals of all race, color, species and creed. 

No, the real problem was the fact that the attraction that he felt was so deeply twined with the friendship part of the equation, because in Jim’s vast experience friends and sex just didn’t mix at all, an assertion clearly supported by the fact that Bones was the only real friend he’d had at the academy.  And while it wasn’t like he’d never chosen sex over friendship in the past – if, he was being in the mood for honesty, he’d even admit that for him was more of the norm - his friendship with Spock was most certainly the exception to that particular rule. 

His meld with Spock the elder on Delta Vega hadn’t left him with any clear images beyond the ones pertaining to their immediate situation, but it _had_ left him with the most appealing sense of _belonging_ he’d ever felt.  And while he’d loved that feeling, it had consequently left him terrified of fucking up and losing all that potential with his own Spock, because while his friendship with Spock now was great – and it really was - the friendship his and Spock’s alternative selves had enjoyed had been simply _epic_ , and not something he wanted to let anything interfere with.

Well, barring the – as of right now - seemingly very likely event of his early demise. 

But while the fact that sex would ruin their friendship kept him from propositioning Spock, it wasn’t the reason that he was so sure that he wasn’t in love with Spock.  No, that knowledge was courtesy of the depressing fact that Jim knew that the moment that he let himself love Spock, would also be the moment that he’d lose him.  And it wasn’t self-pity – and let him get that out there right from the start, because if he wasn’t going to accept pity from anyone else he most definitely wasn’t going to accept it from himself - or even just a maudlin thought brought on by his current…less than favorable situation, but a relative fact of his life for as long as he could remember. 

Because, well, here were the facts as they stood.  Jim had loved his mother, with the pure and unconditional love children gave to their parents and in return she’d spent every moment she could as far away from him as it was humanly possible to get, unable to even look at his face with a smile upon her own.  He’d loved his first high school boyfriend, at the tender age of fourteen, when he’d still been stuck in his geeky and lanky phase, only to have his heart crushed when the boy had humiliated him in front of their whole school by siding with the homophobic masses. 

In fact, he loved everyone he’d had a relationship with up until a few months before he’d joined the academy, when his girlfriend at the time had found out she was pregnant.  When he had offered to marry her, she had immediately shot him down and had promptly moved off planet, stopping only to inform him that if he contacted her again, she’d get an abortion. 

And it had been right at that moment - with the pain _oh so_ sharp and excruciatingly fresh in his mind - that Jim had realized that love simply wasn’t in the cards for him, and in an effort to save himself from that impossible hurt had given up on serious relationships entirely, fucking and fighting his way across the country until that fateful night when Captain Pike had found him in a rundown bar in Iowa and recruited him, where he’d then proceeded to fuck his way through the academy.

Cause hey, if it ain’t broke don’t fix it, right? 

So there it was, clear cut, simple _logical_ proof that he wasn’t in love with Spock, that he _couldn’t_ be in love with Spock, because Spock wasn’t gone.  Spock was still on the Enterprise, still his first officer – who, hopefully, at this moment was trying to devise a brilliant plan to get his ass _off_ this god damned planet - and still his friend, and so as long as Jim had that, he was willing to ignore that _something_ he felt and hope for that epic friendship in reward.

Maybe he could see if his love curse worked on dogs, or something. 

However, at that moment his thoughts were interrupted by the return of the third of his three torture happy captors - and he was almost _glad_ to see him, because somehow thinking about death was less depressing than thinking about the _clusterfuck_ that was his love life - who positioned himself slightly behind the two other guards. 

And although there was nothing special, nothing out of place with the third guard, as he looked at the guy, he was struck by the strangest feeling, like a tiny cold shiver was crawling leisurely up his spine from his gut, only to lodge itself in the vicinity of his throat.  And honestly, he’s just to about to attribute it to the fact that this moment is likely going to be his last one on earth, when the third guard suddenly raises his weapon and shoots the guard closest to him in the back, where the body armor isn’t quite as thick. 

And then, before Jim even has time to blink, the second guard is taken down by a shot to the side that strikes him as he’s spinning around to face the rogue guard and his armor rises with the motion, leaving him vulnerable, upon which he then dropped to the ground to join the first guard in death, if the gapping and slightly charred wounds they were both sporting were any indication. 

Well, that explains that gut feeling, he guesses.

However before Jim’s even had time to process the radical shift that’s just occurred, the guy steps up to the alter and Jim braces himself instinctually as the guard raises the weapon once again, pointing it in Jim’s general direction.  But the searing pain that he’s expecting never comes, as instead the beam hits the thick leather restraints immobilizing his hands, disintegrating and melting them down enough so that he’s able to free his upper body from the alter.  A moment later a second shot follows the first, this time freeing his feet and Jim can’t hold back his wince as the melted leather of the restraints burns a small hole through his pants, singeing the numb flesh. 

Still, it’s definitely a small price to pay for his unexpected freedom, and it’s frankly quickly replaced as the dominant emotion with _confusion_ , as his unknown rescuer gently hoists him from the alter and supports Jim’s weight in an attempt to decrease the amount of pain he’s feeling, not only from his _interrogation_ and his burn, but also from the cramps in his arms and legs, caused by his blood finally returning to his extremities.  And the confusion only rackets higher as the man simply stands silently - a telling clue if there ever was one that this isn’t one of his crew; even _Spock_ , who exuded that whole ‘silence is golden’ thing, would have said something by now - and so Jim takes advantage of the time to regain his equilibrium, trying to be as quick as he possibly can, entirely too conscious of the fact that they don’t have a lot of time to linger. 

Balance restored, he’s just about to open his mouth to inform his new ally – hopefully - that he’s ready to get going, but he’s stops flat when the guy suddenly releases him and silently moves to kneel beside one of the fallen guards, his intent clear.  And so while he stripped the guard of his uniform and his weapon, Jim did a few stretches to make sure everything still worked - it seemed to, but hey, fortune favored the prepared and he knows they’re going to need luck on their side for this one - and wonders idly at the possibility of his rescuer being a telepath.  The guy had seemed to know exactly when to release him without Jim having to say a word, but the briefing hadn’t mentioned anything about telepathy in the native, and after another moment Jim waves the thought off, deciding it was likely nothing more than a coincidence and that he was just being paranoid.

And hey, in his defense, it was actually pretty easy to believe that the world was out to get you when you got kidnapped as frequently as he did. 

He thinks it’s the eyes, because apparently the unwritten rules of space are that star mapping it boring as all hell and all alien races _everywhere_ are _fucking crazy_ over blue eyes.  Honestly, he thinks, rubbing his wrists a little resentfully, where the skin has been rubbed raw by the restraints, this shit should be added to the manual. 

He’s digressing again.

However by that time he’s finished his last stretch, and the guy picks that moment to return, and Jim takes the uniform he’s offered and puts it on over his own clothes quickly - and the plastic wedgie he was going to get out of this might end up being worse than the native’s torture - leaving the helmet with its opaque black face visor off for the moment.     

Once it was on, the guy holds out the weapon he’s liberated from one of the dead guards and Jim takes  it gratefully, glad to have something in his hands capable of defending himself against the little stormtrooper bastards, and anything else that might be roaming around this planet with a taste for Kirk flesh.  However Jim stays still for another moment, because the guy still hasn’t spoken at this point, and the weird feeling in his throat has started to migrate to the rest of his body, and since his gut hasn’t let him down so far, before he’s going anywhere with his unexpected rescuer, he wants to know what he’s dealing with. 

“Why are you helping me?” He finally asks, because while he doesn’t want to sound like he’s ungrateful, he also has a healthy suspicion of anyone who’s willing to help him on this planet, 'cause this planet was definitely going on his list of Planets that Fuckin’ Suck and Should Not Be Visited Ever Again.

It’s a real list, by the way, and starting to get impressively long.  He posts it in the officer’s rec room each month and Spock’s eye twitches a little bit every time he refuses to change the name.

It’s _glorious_.

In response the stranger is silent for a moment longer and Jim wishes he could see the guy’s face as he processes his answer, but instead he’s only left with the image of his own in the reflective surface of the visor. 

Finally, the guy replies, voice muffled but still heavy with irony, “Self-preservation.  Now let’s get moving before we’re discovered.”

And although Jim’s still a bit confused – because that was possibly the most non-answer answer ever, and he hangs around with a _Vulcan_ , so he would know – the weird feeling decreases a bit with the knowledge that he’s dealing a humanoid that is responsive and didn’t sound _too_ crazy - cough _Nero_ cough.  Also, he is actually a guy with his priorities straight, and so he’s more than willing to wait until he’s safe - preferably on the Enterprise but he’d take just about anywhere _that wasn’t here_ at this point - to figure out exactly how helping him helps this guy, so in response he puts the helmet on and draws his newly acquired weapon and then follows the guy as he heads for the trees at a steady pace.

However, because this is his life, after a few minutes of running in relative silence their luck in the _not getting caught and or killed_ department appears to wear off, as they the loud and repetitive blaring of a beacon can be heard, followed by the thunderous sound of footsteps as their adversaries answered the call.  In response, Jim takes a quick three hundred and sixty degree scan of their surroundings in the hope that they can find some place to hide out until they find some way to signal the Enterprise, and in doing so get beamed the hell out of here. 

He nearly crows with the pleasure - but he didn’t because, you know, noise was bad when you were running for your life; seriously his life, he swears - of his good fortune when he notices several caves in his peripheral vision, located near the base of the mountain they’re heading for.  They’re nearly invisible now, in the half darkness of dusk and Jim’s willing to bet his life that in the total blackness of night they’ll be the perfect hiding spot. 

“Caves,” he informs his new travelling buddy, voice quiet in an effort not to draw more attention.  “Two o’clock.” 

In response the guy takes a quick glance in the direction, and after a moment he shakes his head and replies, voice slightly rasping from the strain of running, “It’s too dark, my eyes just aren’t up for that anymore.  You’ll have to lead,” and he follows his words by slowing his pace fractionally to allow Jim to overtake him which he does, altering their course so they’re heading in the right direction.    

Since running in a straight line really didn’t take all that much concentration, Jim takes a moment to analyze his masked friend and see if he can figure anything out from what he’s said about whom he is or what his deal is.  And honestly, there isn’t much to go on, except for the fact that the guy was tired from running, which really doesn’t mean much by itself, because Jim knows he would have been tired now even if he’d been in optimal physical condition when they started, but combined with the failing eye sight, it’s a bit odd. 

To his knowledge – which he can admit without bravo is pretty extensive, because he is actually a certified genius - people only lose their eye sight because of a disease, an accident or through plain old aging.  But since the guy made it sound it like he’d had perfect eye sight at one point, and it was only now that it was starting to fail, aging seemed like the most likely option out of his three choices.  And while he was pretty sure his ego could survive the wound inflicted by being rescued by an old guy, the old thing – not unlike this whole damn situation - is a little weird, because according to the mission brief Uhura had complied on this planet - and yes, he really does read them, thank you very much -older citizens are held in very high respect in this society. 

So, following that train of thought, if his mystery friend was older than chances are he’s either committed some crime that had gotten him into serious trouble here and was hoping Jim would be his way out, or he was from another planet and was hoping Jim could be his ride home.  And honestly, Jim’s rather hoping for the second option - even though it seems unlikely considering the less than warm welcome that foreigners were treated to here - because he really didn’t want to put his continued trust in a man capable of committing whatever this planet considered a serious offense.

He was pretty sure he’d read that _murder_ was legal here - there was no way he wanted to imagine what they considered _illegal_.  

Thankfully his thoughts are interrupted by their arrival at the caves, and Jim takes one more cursory glance at their surrounding before rushing into one that is both relatively deep and well hidden by trees at its entrance.  Once he inside he promptly sinks to the floor as he finally let his legs give out from the exhaustion of running and the abuse he’d received at the native’s hands, striping off the helmet to allow air into his tired lungs.  The man follows him into the cave at a more sedate pace, his chest heaving visibly from the exertion and after a second he kneels beside Jim. 

“Anything broken?” The guy asks as he surveys Jim’s body, and Jim takes a moment to actually take inventory of his aches and pains before replying, “No, thank god.  Just hurts like a son of a bitch.” 

The man nods in a way that seemed oddly knowing and replies, a strange hint of empathy in his voice, “I imagine it does.  Damn stormtrooper wannabe bastards.” 

And at that last line Jim finds himself speechless in response, because if the guy is from this planet - the prevailing hypothesis at the moment - then apparently he’s right about the whole vid thing, and that is just _way_ too fucking weird - who knew, maybe he’ll end up seeing Ewoks after all.

Though he’s absolutely drawing the line if Yoda shows up.

There have to be limits, even for James Tiberius Kirk.

In the absence of a response from him the man gets up and moves over to the other wall of the cave and slowly lowers himself to the ground, groaning only slightly as he does. Once he’s seated, he rests his still helmeted head against the wall before he turns his head towards Jim and asks, voice muffled slightly by the helmet, “Do you have your communicator?” 

And if Jim thought he couldn’t get any more dumfounded, this stranger’s casual inquiry over a technology he should have no knowledge of certainly proved him wrong, and so he found himself blurting out inelegantly, “What?” Because none of this shit made any fuckin’ sense, and that weird feeling was coming back with a vengeance - and that telepath theory was starting to look really good; much better than the ‘he was going out of his mind’ theory. 

However the guy just guy gestures abstractly at Jim’s chest and replies, voice ever calm as he elaborates, “Your shirt.  You’re a captain with Starfleet, so unless they took your communicator or it broke, you should be able to use it to contact your ship.” 

And despite the absolute impossibility of the moment –because Starfleet hasn’t been to this planet before, and this guy is clearly Starfleet - Jim finds that he can’t help but agree with the guy so, feeling a bit like he’s jumped of the cliff that was sanity and is currently plummeting towards the ground, he reaches under the armor to his back pocket where his communicator is and pulls out a dented mass of plastic that’s dripping wet and emitting nothing but static.

“How’d it get wet?” the guy asks, voice bemused, and Jim has the impression that behind that dark visor the guy’s smiling, almost in spite of himself.   Ignoring that, Jim racks his brain - the dented part is easy, the water not so much - before replying slowly, as the memory became clearer, “They threw water on me to wake me up.” 

The guy nods in response and then turns his head towards the back of the cave and gestures at some leaves and twigs that have blown in.  “It should work just fine if we can get it dry,” he informs Jim as he stands up slowly and then moves to crouch down beside the debris, beginning to work in silence. 

And as he moves it into a pile, Jim tries desperately to make _anything_ make sense, but all he comes up with are more questions and since he doubts repeatedly banging his head against the wall will help - beyond the tempting possibility of making him unconscious so he didn’t have to deal with this shit right now, because if this is a Prime Directive thing Komack is going to somehow blame this on _him_ \- he instead voices the first question that comes to his mind. 

“You’re not from around here, are you?” He asks, tone modulated into the carefully casual realm, and the man chuckles in response and before he pauses to light the fire with his rifle before answering in a voice that sounds both cryptic and ironic, “Not exactly,” and then he holds out his hand for the communicator, palm up expectantly. 

And although that knowledge didn’t exactly help him with the whole possible Prime Directive fuck-up, it did help ease his mind of a few of his worries - like those pesky ‘going crazy’ and ‘hiding out with a psychopath’ fears he’d been having - Jim gave it to him with an increased sense of relief, trusting him to do what he was implying.  But he because he’s still curious how the guy ended up here he asks, tone more genuine this time, “Where are you from?”

The guy puts the communicator near the fire’s edge, at a safe enough distance that it won’t fall in and melt, and returns to his position across from him before answering, tone tinged with something that sounded almost like irony, “Nowhere you’ve ever been.”

Jim laughs out loud in response, loud and boisterous and entirely genuine, taking the taunt in good humor, crossing his legs before he answers, "I wouldn’t be so sure about that.  There aren’t many places the Enterprise won’t go,” his pride - and a hint of smugness - evident in his voice. 

“She is a hell of a lady,” the man answers, and Jim easily picks up on the hint of wistfulness in his voice, even through the thick material of the visor. 

“So you have seen her,” Jim says slowly, unsure if this is a good or a bad thing. On the one hand, the guy could have seen them on one of the planets they’ve visited during their mission, or on the news holo’s – saving the earth got plenty of coverage, understandably.  On the other, he could have seen her because he’s a member of Starfleet, and if so, Jim’s ass can already feel the sting of Komack chewing him out for this.

That man needs a hobby.  Or a lay. 

Ugh.  Bad thought.  Focus.

The man’s silent for a minute, like he’s lost in thought, before he replies, “Once or twice,” And his voice is unusually soft, so soft that upon hearing it Jim can’t help but feel that he’s been left out of some important secret or private joke. 

A silence falls after the guy’s finished speaking, and Jim directs his gaze towards the fire, staring aimlessly into the flames.  As he does, he finds himself wondering, almost absently if the deserts of Vulcan had looked like that before they had disappeared into the cold, nothingness that was space along with most of the people who’d inhabited them. 

All those people they couldn’t save.

The thought causes him to wince minutely, as if a phantom pain has just made itself known around the vicinity of his heart and his tiny exhalation of breath breaks the silence. 

“Sorry about that,” the man announces quietly in response to the sound, gesturing with a tilt of his head at Jim’s leg wound, “but I couldn’t find a knife, and that was the quickest way.” 

And although his pain doesn’t have anything to do with the burn, Jim appreciates the sentiment all the same and so he pulls himself away from his depressing thoughts, which he knows too well will only lead to a downward spiral and responds with a heartfelt, “No worries, man.  I’ve had worse.” 

The guy answers him with a chuckle that sounds like huff as it filters through the helmet and as he turns his head towards the mouth of the cave Jim is sure he hears him say, tone still tinged with that strange _something_ , “I’m sure you have.” 

And although there isn’t anything off about the actual words that the guy’s said, the sheer _certainty_ in his voice makes Jim pause for a moment, because something is just _off_ , and his gut is certainly pinging now.  A member of Starfleet or a resident of one of those planets might have witnessed an injury worse than this, but somehow, Jim’s gut whispers to him, that isn’t what this guy is alluding to.  This guy’s tone speaks of experience, of empathy of the deepest kind, like sharing a skin, and frankly, the tone is freaking the _hell_ out of him.

When he looks up again, the mask is tilted back towards him and although Jim can’t see the guy’s face he’s nearly positive that he’s being stared at with relative intensity and so he finally gives into the curiosity he’s been suppressing since he was rescued and demands, in a voice he hopes indicates that he isn’t in the mood for games, “Alright man, who the _hell_ are you?”

And after a moment of silence he continues, because the last time he felt a weird vibe as strong as the one he feels now he’d been stuck on Delta Vega and had just met the old and friendly Spock, and hadn’t that just been a major _headfuck_ , “You know about the Enterprise, about _Star Wars_ and you seem have an unhealthy amount of knowledge regarding me, so how about you quit the cryptic bullshit and give me a straight answer.” 

And in response the guy’s quiet for a moment before he finally shrugs and mutters something that sounds suspiciously like, “At least I’m observant,” and before Jim can even open his mouth to ask what the hell that means the guy finally pulls off his helmet and extends his hand out towards Jim in one fluid movement. 

“James Tiberius Kirk, at your service.  It’s a pleasure to meet me,” He declares as he does a tremendously familiar smirk on his face and Jim’s mouth simply falls open with shock because ah, _now_ that weird vibe is totally justified. 

And since his mind has pretty much just _stalled_ with the sheer _fucked-upness_ that is the situation and is completely unable to reboot, Jim simply stutters dumbly before finally blurting out the only coherent thought he has left.

“Bullshit.”

STSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTST

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: So that was the first part in new-Jim's point of view, and the POV’s will alternate between the two Kirk’s - my inner new-Kirk is a tiny bit cracky. My TOS-Kirk is a bit more serious, not only because he's older and I think that makes him a bit more mature - at least compared to new-Jim - but also because I feel that his experience in the Nexus would have made him not quite as cavalier about life as new Jim is. 
> 
> Also, just to clear this up for readers who weren’t fans of TOS, in case I confused anyone. THIS IS NOT A STARWARS CROSSOVER. The world the Jim's are on is not really in the Star Wars universe. It's just some random planet that found a video of one of the movies and decided that it would be an excellent model, like the TOS episode where they find a world that is like Chicago in the twenties - pinstripe suits and gangsters - because someone left a book there. 
> 
> Also, man this thing needs so much more editing than I thought. I think my spellcheck was pranking me when I wrote this or something. I seriously need a beta writer. Also seriously I have all these new fic ideas I got after Into Darkness, but none of them are actually about Into Darkness – other than Unquantifiable, which, in a shameless self-pimp, you should read. There’s seriously something wrong with me. Oh well, as always, please feel free to review, as feedback makes the world go round.

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: So, here’s the thing. I used to write Spock/Kirk fanfiction. In fact, without Star Trek 2009 I probably never would have even had the guts to post any of my work, but that movie left me with so many feels that I promptly went to the internet and got absolutely swallowed up in the Kirk/Spock movement, leading to my first real OTP. That said…I’m not really in love with some of my early work. I hadn’t really gotten a feel for writing yet, and one of the fics that I think most suffered from that was this one, which is why I never posted it on AO3 (it is at fanfiction.net and the Kirk Spock Archive). But Into Darkness really jumped-started my Star Trek juices again, and so not only am I planning some new Trek fic, I also decided to clean this one up a bit-not change the plot, but rework it so that it feels a bit more polished and a bit less…unrefined let’s say. So if you’ve never read this fic or if you read the original (especially then, as I’d love to know your opinions on the changes I make) please feel free to browse the whole redux as its posted and leave me your thoughts, as reviews and constructive criticism are always welcome.


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